


You and I

by ameliajean



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliajean/pseuds/ameliajean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fluffy non-proposal, as requested by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Girl_In_Port/gifts">A_Girl_In_Port</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I

Bayswater to Edgware to Marylebone to Baker, and it’s snowing.

John’s coat is soaked through and his shoes are filled with slush. All he wants is a hot shower and a cuppa before tumbling into his too-small bed. He looks up at the darkening sky through the cab window and watches paper-thin slivers of ice float to the ground and collect in elegant piles.

The cab slows to a stop and they exit; John strides for the door and turns curiously to see Sherlock standing at the kerb’s edge, looking up into the sky as if it were the first snow he’d ever seen.

“We’re going to catch our death out here,” John says warningly.

No reply.

John takes a few steps back to stand beside the other man, flecks of white conspicuously dotting the curls that gently frame Sherlock’s face.

“What is this, then?” he wants to say, and doesn’t. So he waits instead, because that’s how they communicate: John waits, and perhaps he is rewarded with the briefest glimpse of what Sherlock is thinking. Perhaps he isn’t. He waits all the same.

Finally, “This is what you want?”

John’s brow knits in confusion; of course, of _course_ Sherlock is ten steps ahead without the inclination to backtrack or leave a trail of breadcrumbs.

“I _want_ to go inside and warm up,” he huffs, breath visible in the night air.

“No, I-” Sherlock’s gaze never leaves the sky. “You and I.”

“Oh,” John takes a very deep breath, exhales slowly, and smiles. ”Of course.”

Sherlock doesn’t miss a beat. “For how long?”

It makes sense now. Obviously, the man’s brain can’t process anything without resolute intent and finite, pre-determined conclusions. He’s probably worked out a thousand different scenarios just on the cab ride home, ranging from eventual-fight-can’t-mend-John-leaves to, oh God, John doesn’t even want to think about the other nine hundred and ninety-nine.

John laughs, short and abrupt. “As long as you’d like.”

Sherlock nods.

He’s bloody freezing. Perhaps it’d be best to speed this along to its logical conclusion. And after all, it doesn’t bother him in the slightest to think about the whiting snow and the too-small bed and decades of Bayswater to Edgware to Marylebone to Baker. God willing.

“I’m not going to propose to you, if that’s what you’re on about,” John says lightly, and finally Sherlock turns his gaze downward so their eyes meet. His nose is bright red, the cracking smile on his face just this side of amused.

“Tea, then,” Sherlock proffers.

John pulls the man down by his scarf to place a sealing kiss to his lips and they settle into this: _this_ without declarations, _this_ without gold bands, _this_ without the eyes of others.

“Yes,” John agrees, and they turn to enter the flat.

“Honey?”

“And milk, if you don’t mind.”

Sherlock smiles, nods fractionally, and opens the door.

They sip it in front of the muted telly and maybe, maybe a pyjama-clad John mumbles, “keep your sodding frozen toes off of my calves tonight, yeah?” but the request goes unheeded as ever.


End file.
